Barbaric.

 

It's a word that I've heard quite often the last few days. We've been learning little tidbits of information about ancient history every now and again, and whenever we come across something even just a little bit gruesome, Dad's reaction is always 'That's barbaric!'

 

Was it? We look back on it and give a show of revulsion, but when it was actually happening, it was the norm, and perfectly acceptable. Did the spectators in the Coloseum think that what they were watching was barbaric? Did the Vikings and the Norsemen consider themselves to be barbarians? Was Hannibal's army comprised of barbarians?

 

What is a barbarian? Is it a relative term, or is there something totally universal that everyone can agree is 'barbaric'? I think we just consider anyone who doesn't conform to our standards and beliefs to be barbaric. How much do you want to bet that the people and cultures we call barbaric look back at us and say the exact same thing?

 

We call them barbaric because they run around in butt-flaps.

 

Some of us run around in less.

 

We call them barbaric because they don't speak English.

 

Anyone ever stop to think just how retarded the English language actually is?

 

We call them barbaric because they kill.

 

What do we watch on TV? What do we let our kids do on their game consoles?

 

I'm ranting like a 60 year old man. But that's the way it is.

 

The Bible summarizes it rather succinctly. "Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all tht eime there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye." [Matt. 7:1-5, NIV]

 

I guess my problem is that we stand aloof on our soapboxes, glaring down at everyone else, spouting virtue and self-righteousness, when in reality, we're just as bad.

 

 

Shabu'droten. Glynis, your idea of being a hermit is getting more and more appealing.

WARNING: There is some language content in this post. Not strong content, but some content nonetheless. No like? No read.

 

Life is a series of choices. You make them and you don't look back.

 

Simple, in theory. In actuality?

 

Somebody forgot to mention pain. I want to meet that somebody, so I can introduce him to it.

 

Sometime, a while ago, I decided to live my life without regrets. Up until a while ago, that was fairly easy. Make choices, some of them would turn out bad, just learn from them, pick myself up, and continue on. Simple enough. Then, somebody decided that the Paris Hilton show wasn't the life for Nik, and turned up the trouble dial.

 

Sure, I can still make my choices and have no regrets, but when my choices begin to hurt those that I'm close to, I have to stop and re-assess. What happens when I can no longer see straight and make clear judgements? I go for help. What happens when those I turn to help for cannot help me? What happens when I know what the choice should be, but cannot possibly physically make that choice? What happens when pragmatism cannot help, nor even hinder? How can I possibly prioritize friendships?

 

Goddamned hormones. The only way to remove them permanently is not a considerable option. I liked it better when they were shut off. But still...to love again is a wonderful thing. Therein lies the choice. To love, and to hurt, or to not love, and still hurt. Either way, I'm screwed, and either way, I too am hurt. The cost is too great.

 

Count the cost. In the end, it's my decision, and my decision alone. I cannot make this decision. My heart is broken regardless. God, the decision is yours. Take it, and make it, for I find myself powerless yet again. It seems to be happening with increasing and alarming frequency.

 

Head bowed

Hands clasped

Tears flow free.

 

Broken, battered, wounded

Tired, failing and hurt

Waiting on bended knee.

 

Eyes red, deep is dread

Emotion unbidden, uncontrollable

Anger, Love, Sadness all

To live, to love, there is a fee.

 

Cost is counted, arguments spoken

Choice is mine

Choice is God's.

 

Grind the grist

Call the roll

Slump, defeated.

I got my first glimpse into how frustrating it must be to be a music teacher sometimes. I got to symphony rehearsal, and, as usual, read the notes on the chalk board that are left there from band class. On the right side of the board was scrawled in large letters:

 

Bar lines are NOT part of the music

 

After recovering from my initial burst of incredulous laughter, it made me stop and realize just how much music instructors must have to put up with. It made me wonder two things:

 

1) Are all beginning musicians that stupid?

 

2) Is it just high school band musicians (brass and woodwind)?

 

I've seen Glen get mad at us before; we kind of warranted it though. I've seen Mrs. Gilliat get mad at us too.

 

 

There are times I get frustrated at my co-musicians; but then again, I'm not perfect either. I can almost imagine how frustrated that band teacher must have been to write a note like that on the chalk board. That must take an instructor to an entirely new level of incredulity. As Einstein is quoted to have said: "Two things are infinite; the universe, and human stupidity. I'm not sure about the universe."

 

I shall bid you all 'night', but not 'good', for it has not been.

 

Venting rage into the wind.

Screaming vengeance and howling for revenge.

Sighing frustrations into ragged cloth.

Redirection of misdirection.

Foisting duty; had enough.

Fall in line. March in time.

Bury anger and wait.

Opportunity past.

 

Sit back.

Breath in; hold.

Clench and unclench.

Wound and tense; springloaded.

Focused and alert.

Cool clarity follows.

Balance.

Breath out.

Harden resolve; snarling eyes stare back from cracked mirrors.

Toe the line.

Realize the obvious; understand and employ.

Detach mentality.

Turn and walk away.

Brilliance defined.

So this is what Nik does when he gets bored. He writes. He doesn't write stories. No...he writes essays. No longer having to write them for English 30, he is getting bored, and has resorted to writing essays for fun. Here is the latest. Hope you enjoy it. You might not understand it. This one is dedicated to my PITs. If you were a PIT, you'll understand it.

 

Of Life, Colour, and Crayons

Waxing eloquent on the topic of my personality

An essay

 

            I am a crayon. At first glance, I’m just a plain black crayon, sitting in the back of the box. However, I’m not just any crayon. I am a deep, obsidian black, reminiscent of an onyx. There is something about me that is like looking into space; timeless and infinite, dark and mysterious. Who knows what the shadows hold? There are other, brighter, more attractive crayons, of course. Every single crayon is unique, sometimes a solid colour, sometimes a blend of many. Each contributes their colour to the canvas of life, weaving an intricate story that few ever take the time to read.

       Pull me out of the box, and take a closer look. I’m not just black. Look closer and you see colour. Swirling fluorescent orange shoots through the inky blackness, spiralling, twisting like tongues of flame reaching into a night sky. Gaze intently past the swirling orange and let your eyes adjust to the dark again. Ripples of emerald green sheathed in sapphire blue dance, like Northern Lights across an infinite sky. Roll me in your hands a little and gaze deeper still. See anything? No? Look closer. Like Rafiki tells Simba – look harder! Search past the flickering orange; stare through the woven tapestry of dancing green surrounded by a halo of shimmering blue. Focus on the void. See it? A gentle glitter washes across the dark expanse. Miniscule flecks of gold are scattered throughout, like stars filling the night sky. There are thousands upon thousands of these stars, too many to count. As you turn me in your hands, these flecks of gold catch the light, shooting rays of brilliant light in all directions; sometimes these golden rays overpower the other colours, infusing the crayon with gold. Most often, orange is the most prominent of colours; seldom will any other colour show through. Infrequently gold will shine through, sometimes green, and rarely ever blue.

       Press me against the paper; rub gently. Inspect the complex mosaic that I form. A pool of black, but there is balance, see? Orange stands out, but the green swirls in and out, accented by hints of blue; looking closely you see that together the forest and ocean combine to match the glory of the rising sun. Throughout the scene, gold remains hidden, yet ever present. Standing alone, I form a unique and wonderful tapestry.

       Take another crayon out of the box. This one is a vibrant orange, with a few streaks of blue, a streak of green; that is all. Rub a new swath of colour on the canvas next to mine. Look! See how my tapestry changes? Inspect the blackness; see how the balance has changed. Orange shines brighter still, nearly blending with the new shade. Sapphire blue has faded to royal blue, replaced by the increase of orange. The green however, remains unchanged. Add three more crayons. A half blue, half orange, a brilliant sky blue streaked with orange, and a dark forest green flecked with blue, sheathing a core of orange. We each form our own mosaics, pictures within pictures within pictures. See how we all change, complimenting and clashing, highlighting and blending. In response to the influx of blue and orange, my own blue has become nearly nonexistent. Both green and gold have become more prominent and noticeable, but orange is still dominant.

       You can add any combinations of orange, green, blue, and gold to the canvas. I interact the same to each individual colour; Orange always takes prominence, clashing with gold, highlighting green, sometimes complimenting, sometimes overshadowing blue, and blending and strengthening itself. The blend of these colours in each crayon determines how we interweave our tapestries on the canvas of life.

 

~Into Darkness I descend, to wage a bitter war against myself. By the grace of God alone shall I emerge victorious into Light. ~

~Random notes on music~

 

There are three good superhero songs:

 

There are three truly amazing crystal voices:

 

There are three violinists I enjoy hearing and watching (and with whom I've worked):

There are three concerts I would like to go to:

There are three duets I want to record:

There are three camp songs that I love to listen to [and sing]:

Went job hunting.

 

PULL!!!!!

 

*shing-klack-WHOOSH!*

 

.........

 

 

........

 

*BANG*

 

 

 

 

Dropped resumes off at Chapters and Bert & Mac's. Bert & Mac's isn't hiring, but they'll put my resume on file. Most sports retail stores aren't hiring, I've noticed. Chapters is hiring though. That would be a fun job. Wish me luck.....